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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27802327">Something to Remember</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ekevka/pseuds/Ekevka'>Ekevka</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Braids, Established Relationship, F/M, Natasi Daala's POV, Romance, everyone involved is a legal adult, nonetheless the sex happens offscreen because I cannot write it, possible ooc, the problem of describing French braids when there are no French in the setting, wearing each other's clothing by accident, while this is almost never overtly said those two are underling/superior and have an age difference</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:01:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,124</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27802327</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ekevka/pseuds/Ekevka</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Several interactions which might have happened between Natasi Daala and Wilhuff Tarkin</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Natasi Daala/Wilhuff Tarkin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Star Wars Rare Pairs 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. On Clothes and Ownership</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulshrapnel/gifts">soulshrapnel</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>My dear recipient, I hope you like this humble gift!<br/>General notes: while Daala is thinking the whole arrangement over at some points, the relationship is probably more romanticised than anything, first chapter is about clothing, second has Tarkin do Daala's hair and the third is the fluffiest of them all (also likely to be the most OOC).<br/>Since a friend has looked this over, any and all remaining mistakes are my own.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Simetian bathhouse was quite often a meeting point for couples - while the saunas were separate, the pools were usually mixed genders if not entirely mixed species. The Empire obviously reserved a couple of floors for officers, but the general principle remained the same: one hired a room with or without a private sauna and undressed there. Then the individual could go to one of the public pools or a gym, or a training room.</p><p>Or to another room. Daala heard many stories of officers either barely escaping notice in the well-lit but narrow corridors of the bathhouse or altogether mistaking the room their paramour was waiting in. </p><p>She and Tarkin had devised a plan against that: they would head to the officers’ pool in the South wing first, then Tarkin would head back while Daala would shadow him. It served both as a more reliable method of finding each other and as a test for Daala: she had to follow Tarkin in such a way that no one but him would know.</p><p>That was why she was thankful for the escape plans on almost every wall - a relic of the Republic, no doubt! Those allowed her to know when the cabins started - this was the moment she couldn’t let Tarkin out of her sight.</p><p>Not that shirtless Tarkin was a sight she had enough of. Not yet. </p><p>After a quick shower - she barely touched the water, mostly because she didn’t want to be dripping it everywhere, - she checked that Tarkin was walking to the cabins. He could well wander to the sauna first - it’s not like prey followed a plan, right?</p><p>Still, he was quick and definitely went to Cabin A6S - surprisingly, it wasn’t one of the deluxe variety, although it might have at least a pool. </p><p>Unfortunately, two other officers were having a conversation right beside her goal, so Daala had to go into her own room - A6M, just several doors down. She closed the door, but kept an ear out for any noise that would definitely mean that the men were gone.</p><p>The walls were solid, though, and likely sound-proofed - everyone knew what whose rooms might be used for, so the proprietors did their best. She could go as she was, but the men would certainly know she was visiting someone and might have recognised Tarkin. </p><p>But if she dressed, she could easily pretend to be entering from the street - and the bonus would be that officially her visit ended as soon as she dropped her bracelet into the slot and closed her room. </p><p>Thus Daala dressed as fast as she could, collected her things and went into the corridor just as the couple went into A6T. Probably. It’s not like Daala was keen to notice.</p><p>Tarkin’s door was unlocked, yet she still knocked - one-two-one in quick succession, - before entering.</p><p>“You took your time,” Tarkin drawled, standing in barely a towel with his eyebrow lifted - Daala was certain the towel would fall if he made even an attempt at moving.</p><p>“There could have been witnesses, so I made a detour. In other news,” Daala slowly started to open her jacket. “I have officially left the building, so we can take all the time we want.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>They dressed up rather hurriedly and Daala probably hadn’t even dried herself after the shower because the shirt clung in all the wrong places. And she was certain she had put a small perfume satchel into one of the pockets, but it wasn't there.</p><p>It wasn’t until she came home that she realised she was wearing Tarkin’s shirt - the sleeves were slightly too long, shoulders somewhat sagged, while one of the buttons on her front was pretending to be on the verge of giving up. </p><p>There was no way to change back, though, so Daala stitched a little “Wesk” onto the left inner pocket and redid the cuffs to fit the shirt under her uniform properly. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The next time they saw each other was in the Galaxies Opera House: Daala had a rare free evening and Tarkin was due a peaceful public appearance. They stumbled upon each other in the buffet, started to discuss several details about a doonium shipment which Daala was bound to guard as her next assignment and naturally moved to speak in a more secluded location - namely Tarkin's box. </p><p>It still wouldn't be appropriate to even touch so they sat at the proper distance and were careful to appear so engrossed in the discussion that Daala missed the intermission's end and had to stay for the third act with Tarkin.</p><p>It was quite a torture: listening to arias about love and war while Tarkin sat at less than arm’s length, relaxed and smelling of flowers. He even drummed to the music, his pale hand right in front of Daala!</p><p>She retaliated by taking off her regulation gloves and rested her chin on her hand, so that Tarkin would have no excuse not to notice her bare hands. He did, and Daala felt rather pleased to see his eyes darting every so often to either her wrist or her neck.</p><p>When the performance ended and the audience started clapping, Tarkin and Daala did as well.</p><p>"My adjutant would have a package for you", he suddenly whispered. "You can use a better scent to wear".</p><p>"I like my own just fine", Daala whispered back, and then turned her head to sniff Tarkin properly. "Are you wearing lavender as well?"</p><p>"Yes. I had the misfortune to run into Ramda after last time and he commented on the flowery thing. I found a slightly better variant, still with lavender as the main part and cypress as the overtones. It would suit you as well," Tarkin slightly bared his teeth in what clearly was intended to be a smile. "Flowers only are for little girls. You deserve better".</p><p>"And we would smell the same," Daala mused, while thinking that Tarkin probably just liked the scent. "I wonder how many would try to copy you?"</p><p>"If we are lucky, enough that we'll go unnoticed. I trust you'll do some advertising of your own?"</p><p>"I can mention something if anyone asks. Not that they will," Daala wondered if the change would even be that noticeable: regardless of whatever Tarkin claimed, lavender was all she could smell with no undercurrents.</p><p>They clapped some more, looked at the actors bowing on the stage for the fourth time and left: Daala first, while Tarkin allegedly wanted to find some singer on the back stage. </p><p>She took the package - a neat little thing which fit perfectly into her pocket, - and realised that she had lifted Tarkin's gloves only when she put them on: they were too big for her palms but her fingers fit slightly better than into standard regulation gloves.</p><p>Why would a man who never wore them even take them with him was beyond comprehending, but she wasn't going to give them back. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When Tarkin said nothing about the gloves (and didn't demand his shirt back or try to return Daala's), Daala decided that their little exchange was all it would be. The gloves she kept for somewhat fancier occasions: their quality was certainly above her uniform ones. The shirt was used among her own - it was a bit of a good luck sign if she randomly chose it in the morning.</p><p>Then Tarkin masterminded another meeting, this time in a slightly shabby hotel run by two quite oblivious Naboonians: Daala mentioned a family secret preventing her from meeting her paramour openly and was promised that no soul would hear about her even being there.</p><p>Tarkin was waiting for her in the room: they barely exchanged pleasantries before trying the sturdiness of the local bed. It was fine enough even when both their belts were used to tie Daala to it, so the hotel might warrant another use.</p><p>Daala was bonelessly lying on the covers, while Tarkin fetched a wet cloth to clean. He was rather light with the touch, but methodical, just what Daala needed.</p><p>“Everything alright?” he whispered in her ear with just a touch of concern.</p><p>Daala thought for a moment, then stretched her hands.</p><p>“Yes. I take it that you have to go?” </p><p>Tarkin always used a cloth instead of a shower if he had no time to waste, but just after sex or a scene was the time when Daala wasn’t afraid to ask the obvious.</p><p>“Unfortunately. The room is booked till morning, so you can stay,” Tarkin said with a sigh. “Do we really have the same size?”</p><p>Daala sat up to properly see and chuckled: he was holding their shirts.</p><p>“It will fit regardless,” she said. “Your hands are longer, though. And shoulders wider.”</p><p>“It doesn’t help when the shirt is not yet worn,” Tarkin replied with the tone that suggested he knew what she was talking about. “Well, good thing it fits. I’d hate for you to go shirtless under a uniform jacket,” he winked and put on one of the shirts.</p><p>“It’s a winter one. Gaberwool.” Daala pouted. “It certainly would itch.”</p><p>Tarkin actually seemed thoughtful at this.</p><p>“I take it that we should revisit the conversation in summer?” he smiled.</p><p>Daala was tempted to throw a pillow regardless. She had nothing against going without underwear, but not under the uniform: the feel of it would certainly spoil whatever might happen afterwards.</p><p>“On a holiday somewhere, yes,” she replied and wondered which shirt Tarkin did choose.</p><p>The cuffs did seem a bit higher than usual on his wrists. She should have sewed “property of Natasi Daala” on the back of her claimed shirt instead. It would make no effect on Tarkin - nothing will, even if she stamped it in any languages she could on his file <em> and </em> made an advert about it. </p><p>She, however, was Tarkin’s through and through, and no lifted clothes could change that.</p><p>“Did the gloves fit?” Tarkin intruded on her musing, then snorted at her uniform ones. “Obviously not. What went wrong?”</p><p>“Too big for my palms, there should be something to adjust the size,” Daala refrained from saying that she tried to resize them and failed - she had no experience with leather and, apparently, neither had any tailor she could count on being silent about that.</p><p>“A lacing in the back might work,” Tarkin mused, then placed out his hand. “Put yours above, I’ll remember the difference.”</p><p>Daala did - it wasn’t much, yet the gloves didn’t fit! - and then went to get dressed herself. Sleeping in was nice, but not on unfamiliar terrain.</p><p>The shirt fit as well as hers proper, yet there was a tiny set of “NernDorn” stitched over the left pocket. Daala lifted an eyebrow at Tarkin.</p><p>“You should have your initials on your clothes. It’s not proper to have others’ on your breast,” Tarkin tapped his left side and left with a spring in his step.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. On Braids</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The triple mirror was a magnificent idea: it not only allowed Daala to perfect her new hairstyle in peace, it also gave her the full view of her room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And now she could covertly watch Tarkin get dressed. Given that they haven’t wasted any time undressing last night, it was interesting to note whether he had changed since she last could examine him like that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still muscle and sinew, still looking dangerous even in regulation underwear with no weapons in sight. Daala again thought that at least one of the projects under her protection should be named after Tarkin. Or his Death Star even - it was supposed to be just as dangerous after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tarkin stretched, still with his back to her, giving her quite the view of muscles and scars.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was quite glad that there seemed to be no new ones. While they definitely added to the appeal, she had to believe everything outside of the Maw would stay the same till she returned. This included Tarkin being alive and not getting into any scrapes that'd leave a mark.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tarkin donned his undershirt and finally deigned to reply to her ogling:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You could turn around and watch properly."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I still have to do my hair," Daala replied, brushing it again. The longer it got, the more attention it required - it wouldn't do to have a pitiful mop, especially in her position! "I want to braid it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I can help," Tarkin offered, silently coming up behind her. "Just so you wouldn't have to divide your attention," he cautiously passed a hand through her hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you know how to do it?” Daala asked, frowning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, not this type of braid” he easily admitted, still caressing her tresses. “But you can always correct me”, he was surprisingly gentle, as if fascinated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Give that the last time they met Daala still had the required short hair she could understand the appeal. The longer her hair got, the softer it was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I wonder how fiery it'll look in direct sunlight," Tarkin mused then shook his head. "Where do I start?" his tone was now humorous.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"When I said I wanted to command you I didn't mean it like that," Daala replied, and brushed her left side again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You should always be precise, Natasi," Tarkin looked directly into her eyes - as directly as the mirror allowed anyway, - but a shadow of a smile was on his lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daala rolled her eyes and considered her options. She could try something fancy, given that Tarkin seemed to actually wish to braid her well, but it might be noticed. Scientists were infamous for not paying any notice to simple things, but her own subordinates could and would report anything that might get them back to civilization proper: even if that would be the private life of their commanders.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Try my usual hairstyle," she said, leaning back. "You should have paid enough attention when you were unbraiding it last night."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You might be right," Tarkin ran his hand through Daala’s hair then set his hands on her crown, deftly collecting a wisp. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t forget to collect the bangs,” Daala added, sinking a bit lower still, so that she had a better view of Tarkin’s handwork.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He complied without question, then spent a half-minute or so making sure the beginning was level.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have done that before, haven’t you?” Daala whispered, knowing Tarkin wouldn’t answer anyway. He never did specify when or where he learned another skill - the origins were irrelevant to mastery, and Daala could never repeat his way up to the top, so any stories were unnecessary.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She still wondered if that was his hairstyle on the Carrion, that infamous plateau, - he had to either cut his hair there or make certain it wasn’t a liability. He almost definitely cut it, but a picture of Tarkin younger than her with a copperish braid down to his shoulder blades or even longer, ruffled from a hunt, was definitely appealing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tarkin carefully started plaiting - Daala looked at his face, calm and collected as if he was winning in dejarik. He even smiled fleetingly, as he was prone to do when a winning combination was obvious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You certainly settled well here,” he said suddenly and gestured at the room, which, while obviously not furnished excessively, was tailored to Daala’s needs more than her previous official quarters or any ship.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am the commander here,” Daala slightly shrugged, mindful of Tarkin’s hands in her hair, gently plaiting. “I can as well be comfortable.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Since I’m likely to spend the next decade or so in this glorified prison, </span>
  </em>
  <span>went unsaid, obviously. Tarkin made everything he could to ensure Daala would still be in power, and that had to be respected. Complaining now was </span>
  <em>
    <span>weak</span>
  </em>
  <span> and this was the worst ever thing she could be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am glad you can see the appeal,” Tarkin sighed and genuinely looked relieved.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Granted, a free way to contact you would be even better,” Daala added teasingly, trying to relieve the sudden tension.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Security requires otherwise,” Tarkin smirked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hope soon enough it won’t be a problem,” Daala could feel Tarkin’s hands at her nape and knew this conversation would soon end. “All the things we develop here don’t deserve to be hidden forever”.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I promise, you’ll be there when the Star fires for the first time,” Tarkin said, and deftly tied the ribbon at the end of her braid.  “And you’ll command a Star of your own, if I have any say in it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daala looked directly in the eyes of his reflection and he winked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would it be as strong as the one you are building?” she smiled and inspected the braid. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was just as she’d do it, which meant that Tarkin was both paying attention to her and approved of the new look, otherwise he’d either mess it up or do something else entirely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course. I trust you’d oversee some new technological marvel to make the next station even better?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I will do my best,” Daala nodded. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tarkin in the mirror seemed removed from the warm hands at her shoulders, as if a ghost and not a man she laid with just this night. Still, she should get used to the feeling: the inspection wasn’t long and not even Tarkin knew when he’d be able to visit her next.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, she can do great things even without his constant supervision.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She will.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Once Upon a Dream</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Would you have chosen me if I was a boy?" Daala asked when they went for a smoke to the balcony. "A ginger, everything else the same, but a boy?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes. Is that a loaded question?" Tarkin replied and lit her a cigarette. "Are you thinking about gender?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Not really, no", Daala was comfortable being a woman and held no illusions: were she a cis male, she'd be even more successful, but as a trans one the chances could be even worse then they stood now. "I was thinking more about your ginger fetish".</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"My what?" Tarkin sounded like he wasn't certain what he heard. "Why'd you think that?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Your wife was ginger. I specified a ginger boy, you said </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Daala looked at Tarkin, who was obviously trying to get her logic. "Ergo, you have a thing for gingers!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I would fuck Sheev then," he replied, then narrowed his eyes: "Wait, you said 'everything else the same'. That'll mean you would still be as clever, ambitious and ruthless as you are now…" he trailed off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daala couldn't keep a smile off her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Compliments, really?" Tarkin sighed affectionately. "I can still change my opinion, you know".</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes. Or you can say those more often," Daala took the last drag of the cigarette and flicked it off the balcony. "Call it </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> kink, if you will".</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll make you a recording," Tarkin promised, his voice warm.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This, out of all three instalments, is the one that is the likeliest to be a dream of either of those two<br/>(but we all know who survived whom, right?)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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